


Fanning the Flames

by chicago_ruth



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, PWP, Size Difference, Temporary Character Death, fireplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 02:36:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12267174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/pseuds/chicago_ruth
Summary: Ifrit asks for one last favor from Ardyn. Ardyn has no reason to refuse.





	Fanning the Flames

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags. Also, I have no idea if any of this got jossed with the recent story updates.
> 
> Originally written for this kink meme request: https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/841.html?thread=96585#cmt96585

It is rare, these days, that Ardyn feels.

He still hates. It burns inside of him, amplified by the darkness of the demons, but it is a slow pulse that beats in time with his heart, unnoticed for the most part.

But he has forgotten how to love. He has forgotten how to care. He knows that at one point he must have, because he was the oracle, the savior, the one who was willing to give his own life to spare others. It is a selfless task, to take the darkness into yourself. Ardyn would warn Lunafreya of her ultimate fate – light tainted and corrupted, soul lost, betrayal all around – but he simply can't get himself to care. 

He sits on the mountainside overlooking Galdin Quay and watches humanity crawl along in their insignificant little lives. He feels for that longing inside himself he once had, that desire to be part of them once more, but it is nothing but a speck of dust, lost in the blackness that flows through his veins.

 _Soon_ , a voice whispers into his ear, and Ardyn smiles sardonically.

"My Lord Ifrit," Ardyn greets, pulling his hat off with a flourish and bowing. "To what do I owe this honor?"

Ifrit is smaller than when Ardyn saw him last, but still almost a foot taller than Ardyn. Being this close to an astral would awe any other human, would awe a mortal, perhaps, but Ardyn has lost that feeling as well. He knows Ifrit too well, after all these years. He would never claim to be able to predict Ifrit or any of the other astrals, no, but Ifrit's motivations are clear and align with Ardyn's.

Should he, perhaps, hate Ifrit, for having caused the Starscourge which saw Ardyn ostracized, banished from the afterlife, despised by those he had saved? Should a small part of Ardyn's remaining feelings be devoted to that?

Ifrit lays a clawed hand across Ardyn's throat. _Please me, Accursed. Please me, and I will grant you the last power you need to see Lucis fall._

Ardyn is not particularly attracted to Ifrit. He is not unattracted either, and it is another thing he has lost to the passing of time. He can still find pleasure, but it is never because he is overwhelmed by lust. He suspects that Ifrit cares naught whether Ardyn enjoys himself in this task.

But Ardyn has learned how to act, these past two millennia. 

Ifrit sprawls across a nearby rock, which now looks almost like a throne. He motions in front of him, and Ardyn readily gets to his knees, heedless of the dirt that will besmirch his trousers. 

The first thing he does is kiss the tops of Ifrit's feet. It shows deference, even if Ardyn feels none himself. It is impossible to feel awe or fear, knowing that he himself is as immortal as the astrals themselves. But he lifts up one of Ifrit's feet and places another kiss on the sole, to which Ifrit makes a pleased sound.

 _Your soul burns so darkly,_ Ifrit comments. Ardyn assumes it is a compliment.

Ifrit's skin is hot – so hot that Ardyn's gloves burn off, and his lips blister. It is of no consequence to Ardyn, of course, and the pain is a sensation he welcomes in the face of unending tedium. It has been a very long time since he shied away from pain.

He continues to kiss along Ifrit's leg, until he reaches the furred haunches. The fur is surprisingly soft, though even this burns his skin as he runs his fingers through it. Ifrit reaches out and curls a lock of Ardyn's hair around his claw. It disintegrates in his hand.

"You'll be the death of me," Ardyn comments, and Ifrit laughs. His massive hand reaches out and closes around Ardyn's throat, going entirely around. Ardyn can feel the fuzziness that precedes his momentary lapses of existence, but Ifrit pulls away. 

A stark ring of blistered skin remains on Ardyn's neck.

 _I will have your mouth,_ Ifrit demands. He leans back and spreads his legs wider, creating a space for Ardyn to step between. His coat catches fire, but this, too, is of no consequence.

Ifrit's cock rises from its furry sheath, nearly as long as Ardyn's forearm and just as thick. Two thousand years ago, Ardyn would have been intimidated. Now he wraps his hands around and watches the sleeves of his coat burn to ash. The skin of his hands starts to peel off. 

Ardyn wonders how long it will take to burn through to his bones.

He leans forward and wraps his lips around the tip. He can taste the ash and sulfur for the first few seconds; soon his taste buds are gone, and he relies on the pressure. Ifrit's hand on his head pushes him further down, further, until he can't breathe at all.

They settle into a rhythm of Ifrit pulling Ardyn's head up and down, and Ardyn moving his hands in time with it. There is very little saliva left in Ardyn's mouth: it steams out of the corners of Ardyn's lips whenever Ifrit pulls back. 

_Swallow_ , Ifrit commands, and he thrusts even harder.

Ardyn prepares himself.

Lava pours down his throat moments later, searing his insides. He burns from within, and now, yes, he loses fractions of a moment, where he ceases to exist, where he could possibly be left to disappear into the ashes.

And then he is there again, lying at Ifrit's feet. He gets up, brushes the dirt from his knees, and bows. 

"I hope that was to your liking, my lord."

Ifrit snorts in amusement. _Everything you do is to my liking, Accursed. We will see the world burn._

He gets up and shakes a few flames off his body. They land next to Ardyn and consume the grass. Ardyn considers snuffing the flame out.

He steps away from it. "I believe I am expected in Insomnia. Farewell, oh Infernian. I shall call on you when I have need."

_I will be watching._

Ardyn walks away, whistling. He can't feel much. Yet.

But soon.


End file.
